Hopeful Remorse

I remember the first time I saw you

You walked into the room with your obtrusive tardiness 

Your blatant disrespect for punctuality 

Yet within these vices there was an alluringly captivating quality 

To the movement of your body as you zigzagged through the aisles 

And I remember the way we all turned our heads to see this 

Eccentric creature walking towards her seat

And despite my effort to ignore you 

I found, I was, attracted 

 

 

The days passed and in that small classroom

 My eyes were drawn to you as you fiddled in your big boy notebook. 

As you wrote I thought to myself, an angel

Rough around the edges, but an angel nonetheless

A person I’d love to learn 

To hear her stories, her journeys, her experiences 

To cherish the moments were I had the pleasure of her voice 

But when you looked in my direction, I’d advert my gaze 

Shyness took the place of courage, and I was already lacking confidence 

So I did nothing

 

 

Fortune smiles on those who’s hearts are true

For a gift was given to the one lacking in courage 

To think that the only open seat was across from you 

And since it was my turn to be obtrusive I was forced to sit by you 

And on that day when you w***e your baggy biker jeans and black T 

You spoke to me, you said, “Hello” I replied with “Hi”

And from there we spoke, and spoke, and spoke, and spoke 

I heard your stories, learned of your journeys, and partook in your experiences 

And we were no longer friends, but something else 

Something more refreshing 

Something better 

Something 

Unique. 

 

 

And one gloomy dark night when it was pouring 

You mentioned how you suffered from night scares 

And oh, how I would have loved to lay there in those flower sheets 

And provide you with comfort for hours 

With your eyes closed and running off into dreams

---not of ghouls and witches, but a dream of

 --- a cabin in the woods, warm, sheltered,

cuddled by the fire,  like a cub resting besides its mother

or a star crossed gaze of two lovers in a crowded room 

whose eyes whisper gently across robust sounds of others 

as words that have waited years finally become voice. 

 

 

And we grew like nurtured infants, we grew 

As you and I are two, but in fact are one 

A reflection, of the other,

for my faults were your strengths and your faults were my strengths

 yin and yang, black and white 

And like wood to a kindling flame, we grew 

As I fell, and fell, and fell, and fell, and fell 

For you 

I remember the nights we laughed and played for hours 

The sweat of our activity gluing skins together 

My hand clasped in yours and I’d whisper 

I won’t let go till we’re both gray and wrinkled 

I won’t let go till we’re both gray and wrinkled 

 

 

Then things took a turn for the worst. 

“I can’t see you” she said with a look that words came from logic and not emotion. 

 

 

That epiphanic moment when you realize what you had is gone.

What’s to come is none. 

Where you are is lost. 

Who you are is just someone’s. 

When you notice it’s done, and you ponder why? 

Trying not to cry. And you ponder why?

No sentence for why? Just the lingering empty sound of why? 

I remember during an argument, when all good things come to end you said 

“I’m too old for you, now”

 

 

And during your absence I’ve become a diver exploring the depths of the sea,

seaweed and shells caught in hair �" minor change �" 

as gold fish and other exotic fish swim around me

a merman, carrying on through the times, like the ocean

in which I dwell smiling and enjoying 

the unexplored, 

the world unknown 

the endless possibility 

the depths 

and in time I’ll discover there, 

coral and pearls and treasures of shipwrecked vessels, 

unexpected encounters, past, present, and yet to come, 

a confirmation almost of eternity, a certain respite, a certain smile of immortality,

as they say, a happiness, an intoxication, inspiration even, 

coral and pearls and sapphires; 

only I don’t know how to give them �" no, I do give them; 

only I don’t know if you can take them �" but still, I give them. 

only I don’t know why I give them �" so, I must keep giving them. 

 

 

And like St. Nicholas I’ll keep on giving 

and afterwards when you’re all 

you’ll return and I will turn, and

fall for the hooks of your lips again, 

pulling me closer and out of pond

into the sky where we both fly,

sharing stories of lost minute, hours, days. 

 

 

--

 

 

and I do not fear this manifestation, for at another time 

on many nights I talked with Hope who appeared to me 

clothed in haze and glory of such a moonlight�"

and many young things, more handsome than, I ignore for you, 

so my heart doesn’t turn 

repressing the flame of my vicarious eyes and tentative raptureand

when you arrive in gold form, I’ll embrace you with silver touch. 

Your ample breast pressed against me, top of your head 

tucked underneath my chin, and nose resting upon chest, 

and the empty entranced illusion shall shatter, 

like the changing temperature of glass 

for the entrancement alone is not enough �" 

oh, what warmth your body provides, as small changes tell great stories

of the travels we both have crossed.